Addled
by cemetrygatecrasher
Summary: Charlie goes through the hellish memories of being a junkie to the hellish reality that he had the hard decison of whether he can resist going down that path again. In this Post Exodus fic, Charlie made a lot of mistakes in his past, and he's just hoping


Addled—A Charlie Fic

I will be calling these 'parts' as opposed to Chapters. Because Chapters almost seem to have to fit some sort of defined size, and I can't guarantee something like that. So onto part 1. Set post Season 1 (Exodus). Language, Drug use, etc. All Pt. titles will be song titles or lyrics, in keeping with the musician aspect.

_**Pt I.**_

_Anyone Can Play Guitar _

_The cobblestone streets Charlie Pace stumbled down probably seemed like a bloody good idea to some ponce that was trying to make the city he was in seem 'rustic' or some of that, but at that moment all it seemed like to him was a hard walk back to his hotel. He was somewhere in the States, on the East Coast, and everything there reminded him of home…right down to the dreary rain that was beating down on his thick black corduroy jacket. The foggy mists pulling in tight circles around the rolled cuffs of his jeans, the muddied soles of his brown boots. One hand was moving out at his side, the nailpolished fingernails brushing up against wet brick of building after building._

_His guitar was back home, calling to him. Daring him to twist it around his tired fingers, until the ache became dull and numb and he didn't feel it any longer. The only thing in existence was the feel of the music moving through him, literally as if the notes danced in the air and vibrated softly all around him. It was a feeling that only fairly high grade brown opiates and a good acoustic guitar could create—and it was the best damned feeling in the world._

_One thing about the States was that there were always people around, no matter what hour of the day you were out and about. Charlie had been out a good part of the night, finding the nearest club that promised a chance to score, and hoping to high hell that his bit of celebrity still existed on this side of the pond. It had helped him score copious amounts of drugs in the past—why couldn't it now? Of course things didn't work out that way. _

_Still, within three hours and a few bottles of Guinness, his natural charm had gotten him what he needed. The girl was young, a few years past twenty, but she already looked one foot into the grave. Her frame was barely there, the white man's undershirt she wore hanging on her two sizes too large. Still, he could tell in seconds that she had what he needed, and that was all that mattered at that moment. A few kind words, a hint or two to his intentions. He supposed in his current state he didn't look a whole hell of a lot better then she did, so he wasn't surpriing her by asking he supposed._

_From leaving the club and going to her place, things were sort of blurry. Charlie had ambled up to her place, a upper section of a house that was missing a few windows. The drugs were quick and good, the best combination to find. Charlie remained on her obscenely green couch for a long time after the first hit, things suddenly getting more vibrant. _

_All Charlie remembered from being there was staring at the painting she had across from the couch he sat upon. It was some sort of cheap middle 20th century deal, very London Mod. Black background with a white figure. Charlie's vision kept leaving and coming back, and he couldn't quite make if the figure was female or male. Finally, he got tired of caring and set off to leave, not listening to the girl at all when she asked where he was going. Apparently, he had upped and left during a story she had been telling. _

_The rain was getting stronger now, but he wasn't far from where he needed to be. Still, there were people walking everywhere. Charlie dropped his hand lazily from the wall, digging into the tight jean pocket where he kept his room keycard. His paranoia began to raise, and he wanted to get into his room where he was safe sooner instead of later. _

_There was something behind him, and he could almost feel it's hot breathe on his neck. Someone was surely following him now. They knew what he was up to, probably cozzas waiting to arrest him the second they got their greedy hands on him. Charlie knew how the American Police were, he had heard the stories. _

_  
The onsetting fear caused him to almost run to the elevator, making the girl at the desk turn up from her book and give him a strange quirk of her eyebrow. Charlie waved slightly at her, trying to ask as if he was up to nothing at all. Even though the bags under his eyes and glassy stare he gave probably told otherwise. When the golden elevator doors closed he leaned against the cool interior and breathed a long sigh of relief. _

_He could already hear the notes in his head, and he had begun to hum. One hand was tapping nervously on his leg, the one with the key card. The other was almost dead at his side, as if the two parts of his body just refused to meet up in the middle. His dirty blonde hair was a mess, shaggy and in his eyes so that it looked like he hadn't cut it in ages. Which he hadn't, even the few bills he dropped down for a cut were better served for other purposes._

_The elevator ride felt like forever, the space closing in on him. As soon as the doors dinged he was racing towards his hotel room. He opened his door, fumbling with the card key, and once inside he felt instantly better. Somehow…there everything was safe. _

_Charlie's guitar was across the room, sitting neatly on the stand in one corner. It was glimmering, each string just recently placed on with careful fingers, each machinehead cleaned. Charlie swore no matter how bad things got, his guitar would not be the one to pay for his habits. He started to head over towards it eagerly, a toothy grin finally forming on his lazy figure._

_On the way to the guitar, he looked off to the left for a brief moment, the bright light from his bathroom glaring at him. When he turned, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and the sight made him stop abruptly. He quickly changed course, heading inside and studying himself more carefully. He tried not to see what was there, tried not to see how his own face didn't seem his own any more. The reflection was sobering, and he had to swallow hard to bite back the tears in his throat. _

"Charlie, hello?" A petite hand waved itself in front of his face. "Earth to Charlie!"

He looked up from his daze, saw that Claire was standing before him. A bright smile was in it's usual place on her sweet features, her eyes twinkling that shade of blue that Charlie didn't know existed. Her smile was infectious, and soon the memories that were plaguing him soon faded away on him.

"Sorry, Claire…just" He realized he wasn't quite sure what he was going to say. He didn't want to lie to Claire, no matter what the reason. Still, he didn't want to share with her his pleasant memories of being a junkie. His mind flashed to the small Mary statue he had concealed right where the beach met the jungle and swallowed. Nor did he want to share why he was thinking of such things.

"I know, I know…thinking of home." She nodded a little bit. "We all do, most of the day I think we all do." She looked down at Aaron, who was a small sleeping bundle in her other arm. The look on her face as she watched him was something that Charlie hoped to look upon for the rest of his existence. She turned back to Charlie, unaware of how he had been staring at her. "Well, at least I have something that makes this feel like home."

He moved over so that she could sit next to him on the plane seat that he had been resting upon. "Two thing, you've also got me. Now I'm not Australian, nor did you even know me before this…but, I've been told once or twice I'm pleasant to be around."

She sat down, still smiling. "Of course you are. You're one of the good parts of my new home, as well." She looked down the beach a bit and Charlie followed her gaze. She was staring at two guys starting to argue over something that Charlie guessed was small and didn't really add up to anything in the long run. Claire's smile faded a little bit. "One of the _few_ good parts."

If only she knew. Charlie could name off so many good parts of being on the island. As painful as things had been, as much as he had hurt when Claire was missing—there were still good parts. Without the island he would have never met Claire and Aaron. He would have never gotten away form the drugs…

His mind snapped away again. Fixing itself firmly on the statue…what was inside the statue. Maybe he hadn't gotten as far away as he thought after all.


End file.
